


Watermark

by astrosaur



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Sexy Zone
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 04:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10528554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrosaur/pseuds/astrosaur
Summary: Fuma had no definitive clue as to what could have caused Kento to up and leave the job he seemed to love so much. Four years later, he gets a chance to learn the truth when they suddenly cross paths again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a self-challenge to write 5 fics inspired by 5 songs in different genres. Genre 1 is Indie Rock, song is from The Weakerthans. (This line most of all: "Let me scrub that brackish line that you got when something rose and then receded," but really quite a lot of lines - and you'll see them throughout the fic because I cannot resist their lyrics)

_We’re talented and bright, we’re lonely and uptight_

 

 

          He’s never been a fan of his glands that work double time to dehydrate him, keeping him reliably overheated and sticky in uncomfortable places. It’s worse when he isn’t even physically exerting himself, as in those moments where he’s uncertain about how his choices affect Shori and/or Marius, or when he’s waiting at a corner of the room for scene partners in the middle of his first audition in some five years.

          Or when he finds out that he’ll be auditioning with the one person he has neither the energy or strength to face.

          Kento spots Fuma first, widened eyes magnetized to the younger man the moment he walks in. Of course, he’s seen this very same Fuma on billboards and magazines, on the TV set when he summons the resolve to take anything longer than a glimpse. So, even though they haven’t seen each other in person since Shori and Marius were born, the roundness of Fuma’s cheeks having been done away with is not news to Kento. Fuma’s longer legs, they don’t catch him by surprise. But even with that bit of preparation, being in Fuma’s vicinity – in the flesh – is all it takes to turn his breathing ragged.

          He quickly calculates the practicalities of bolting before Fuma deigns to notice him. It would be especially pathetic in light of how much he really needs this job – how much he needs _any_ job – that will relieve the burden he’s causing his family. It would not only be pathetic to run, but ungrateful, wasting Misaki’s generous offer to stay with the kids so Kento can attend this audition. And then there’s the fact that he’s come so far in the process. He’s not exactly one or two steps from getting the part, but he’s progressed much further than he thought he could have, right out of the bat. He can’t pass up the glimmer of an opportunity, and doesn’t have the luxury to care if he’s in this position out of sheer luck. He has no guarantee he can get this far again so soon, or that Misaki can be this available again, or that he can even find it in himself to knock at this door when his own insecurity gets too daunting.

          He’s still in the middle of fight and flee mental simulations when the director calls his name, along with one Kikuchi Fuma. Hard-won training of keeping his composure barely holds him back from laughing riotously at how the gods aren’t beating around the bush with their precise cruelty. A sideways glance at Fuma’s stone-faced façade tells him that that same well-ingrained training is keeping the other boy’s turmoil from surfacing, too.

          Then there’s that sharp tug, that sliver of a thought that cuts deep and buries itself in his chest. _Maybe_ _he doesn’t care. Maybe he doesn’t even recognize me. What if I have to remind him? Hey, do you remember some weird kid who hung around you all those years ago, from way before you managed to reach your dreams?_

          The melancholic thought evaporates when Fuma asks the director if they can read another scene. It’s more emotionally charged compared to the one that other pairs are performing as a chemistry test. The scene Fuma’s suggesting to do has their respective characters fighting over whether the other can be trusted or not. It almost has Kento wishing that Fuma truly doesn’t recognize him.

          The director grants his permission, and Kento goes along with it, wearing some version of a poker face as he does. He isn’t all that surprised to find that they act the hell out of it, appearing to the audience as if they aren’t calling each other fictional character’s names and reading off a script someone else wrote.

          The room is oppressively silent when they’re done, only disrupted a moment later when the director is done taking notes and goes on to ask Fuma to try the scene with someone else.

          Kento’s adrenaline putters out as the rehearsals proceed, but the tension remains in his body. He’s certain nobody could outdo his own performance just then – nor Fuma’s – but it feels like the opposite of an achievement. He sits through three more of Fuma’s readings, a couple for different characters than the one he’d played in the reading they did together. Kento himself has one more read-through, taking on the same character but this time opposite Sato. Sato is one of the bigger name actors left in the running, but their connection is noticeably stilted despite the other’s talent and experience.

          Throughout the rest of the day, he finds himself unable to directly look at Fuma again, only giving in to restless stolen glances that skitter away at the slightest threat of reciprocation. But as far as Kento can tell, Fuma holds his gaze straight ahead towards the director, unwaveringly aloof.

          When the group is dismissed en masse, Kento is too exhausted to hope he lands the part, or that if he does, he wouldn’t be subjected to working closely with an estranged friend and one-time lover in his first foray back into the industry he once walked away from.

          No, there’s no time to fret over all of that when the desperate need to be away from Fuma and the world he’d already left behind – and more importantly, back to Shori and Marius and the new world he’d since entered – are igniting every cell in his body.

          He’s only some twenty steps away from the exit when a body throws itself right in front of him, blocking his escape.

          “Seriously?”

          Kento feels the temperature on his face raise ten degrees in less than a second with that one word, uttered in a familiar voice made lower and rougher with time. And, perhaps, with everything that time entailed. “I need to go,” Kento bites out.

          “I guess you do. I’m just curious if it would’ve hurt to say that five years ago,” Fuma says, dry and almost entirely devoid of emotion.

          Kento sighs, too tired to express guilt. “Not like it would’ve gone any better if I had someone else pass the message along. You know, someone you weren’t actively shutting out.”

          “Oh, right, that’s all on me. Let’s pretend everything was perfectly normal on your end too, just because you could fake a smile more readily than you can breathe.” Fuma grabs a hold of Kento’s wrist when the older man starts to walk off, catching him before he can go off on a strop. “I know. I know it was awkward after that night, but… But what, you didn’t think it was worth mentioning to me you were going to disappear for good? Huh? I know, things weren’t great, but we could’ve tried to fix it. We were finally in a unit and things were clear for the first –”

          “Is that what you’re mad about?” Kento interrupts him. “You debuted without me, didn’t you? You got along fine – you debuted with your friends.”

          “After they enforced a hiatus, and shuffling and losing all sense of security that we’d fought to get. But then you know that’s not what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Fuma releases his wrist, shoving it back to Kento’s side. “I just don’t want to get blindsided again, so – what? Are you coming back?”

          Kento snorts and then immediately afterwards, sighs. “I’m still technically associated with the agency, if that’s what you’re asking. Iijima didn’t change anything with my status before she resigned.”

          Fuma’s frown deepens. “And? They sent you on this audition?”

          “Not really.” Kento moves to leave, pushing Fuma’s hand away when it begins to reach for him again. “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

          Fuma’s grip slackens with the flippant apology, and Kento can’t ignore it. “I…” His voice comes out as a raspy whisper. Offhandedly, he thinks back to when they were younger, on how Fuma used to make fun of how bright and loud he was, or how he told people off when they attempted to point out the exact same thing in his presence. “I have to go,” he repeats once again, because it’s the only part of their long overdue conversation that’s both honest and within his current capability.

 

*

 

_I’ve got this store-bought way of saying I’m okay, and you’ve learned how to cry in total silence_

 

 

          Fuma’s debut had been a big deal. The triumph of a long-awaited pinnacle that he and some of his closest friends fought and scrapped to reach had been monumental. And yet, suddenly coming face-to-face with his past, a face straddling that tender line between familiar and unknown, somehow draws a stronger, rawer emotional response.

          What he would never tell anyone was that, for as long and as steadfastly as he had faulted Kento for his mysterious disappearance, he blamed himself just as much. The merits of his self-condemnation rarely mattered to him. Through his late teens, when he was lying in the dark at night, he would routinely replay the half-sober promise that came less than a month before Kento disappeared. It was a promise that any “exploration” they’d embark on that night wouldn’t change the course of their friendship. Needless to say, that promise was dropped just as swiftly as it was conceived.

          But Fuma knows it would have been upheld eventually, if Kento had only given him more time instead of literally vanishing without a trace. Those three weeks immediately following that friendship-ruining night were not enough.

          They had not been remotely long enough to temper the roaring flashbacks of Kento looking at him with suffocating trust, affection, and desire, of Kento probably mirroring exactly what had been in his own eyes at that time. Back then, in his state, he couldn’t even imagine tamping down those memories long enough to face Kento in the light of day, choosing instead to pour his attention everywhere and anywhere else.

          And then, without warning, the chance to repair things had been snatched away from him. One minute he was deliberately not noticing Kento’s presence as he chatted with Kouchi and Hokuto in their dressing room, and the next minute Kento just stopped showing up. Kouchi and Hokuto attempted to get to the bottom of it that same day, knowing it wasn’t in Kento’s nature to miss an appointment without so much as a message, but Fuma only allowed himself to worry when management gathered the three of them in an office to discuss their unit’s status. His concern came just in time, too, because things spiraled quickly from there. Hurdles piled up one over the other in a domino-esque fashion, and he would have to clear those obstacles, one after the other.

          Still, all of that should be ancient history by now. It should be, and yet the moment he got a look at this older version of a childhood friend, those same flashbacks hit him with shocking vividness and those same feelings claw their way back up and nestle blunderingly against his ribs.

          The environment he’d tuned out comes back to focus when he notices a small child, skin pale and lips trembling. He looks around and sees nobody in the immediate vicinity who might be accompanying him. “Help me, please, you have to find my brother!” he wails as soon as he notices Fuma’s attention on him.

          Fuma tries once again to sight an adult to take accountability, but is made to acknowledge that it’s going to be him that needs to fill that role. “What’s wrong? Are you lost?”

          The kid shakes his head, then seemingly changes his mind halfway and nods. “I just had to go to the fountain because I had to blow my nose,” he says through a thick stream of tears. “Kenty says not to wipe it with my fingers or on my clothes, and I remembered there was a fountain so I ran here really fast, but then when I looked for him and Shoyi they weren’t where they were supposed to be, and—”

          “Okay, okay, relax.” Fuma pats the kid on his shoulder to keep him from rambling. It’s awkward, but he’s no stranger to younger children, having two siblings that came after him. “Do you want to go to the police station? They can help bring you home, if you know your address.”

          This makes the kid pout even more, eyes crinkling to unleash a fresh wave of tears. “Papa – I mean, my brother knows!”

          Fuma fleetingly wonders about the mid-sentence switch. “Right, then we just have to find your brother, don’t we?” He racks his brain for solutions. “He can’t be far. Was he here when you last saw him?”

          “Yes.” The boy’s face crumbles. “No. I’m – I’m not sure.”

          Fuma continues to ask him questions, throwing in a few random ones about his favorite color or whether he knows about this anime that his own little brother is raving about, just to keep him from bawling any harder than he already is.

          He learns that the boy’s name is Marius, that he’s three, and that he had gone to the park with his twin brother and their eldest brother. He places Marius on his shoulders and encourages him to call out to them while he walks a gradually widening perimeter around the spot where he found the boy.

          “Papa! Shoyi!” Marius screams in a piteous tone, over and over again. “Pa- Kenty! Sho-chan!”

          Fuma is about interrupt and ask why he’s yelling for what seems like five different people, when he notices someone running to him in full speed. He stands rooted to the spot when he sees that it’s Kento, with a tiny child wrapped around his back like a human knapsack, charging at him like he’s about to attack.

          “Mari!” Kento exclaims, seemingly not even registering that the little kid he’s looking at is atop Fuma’s shoulders. “Mari, I’m so glad you’re—”

          “Kenty, you were gone! You were gone!” Marius starts to kick, little sneakers thumping at Fuma’s chest, making the latter ease the wriggling boy off of him and onto Kento. Marius immediately clings to Kento’s neck, and Kento and the other child both grab onto him.

          “I’m here, it’s okay,” Kento says, petting the boy’s hair. “Don’t ever run off like that again, okay?! You scared us!”

          Marius nods against his neck. “I was scared, too. I want to go home.”

          “Okay, shh. Let’s go home.”

          “Are you driving?” Fuma chimes in abruptly.

          Kento snaps to attention at the source of the new voice. “…Fuma?”

          “You’re shaking badly,” Fuma points out, ignoring his own shiver when he hears Kento say his name for the first time in a long time. “You should take a bus or something.”

          “I took my car,” Kento says. “Did you – did you find Marius?”

          “The kid demanded that I help him. But it’s fine, he’s been through a lot today,” Fuma says, shrugging. “Wouldn’t want to add a car crash on top of that, so maybe you should let me drive these kids.”

          Kento blinks. “What?”

          “You can think what you want about me, but I don’t want some accident involving children on my conscience.” Fuma holds out his hand expectedly and stares Kento down.

          It takes an agonizingly long fifteen seconds before Kento puts Marius down so he can fish his keys out of his pocket. Kento’s nerves cause his hands to shake, but he manages to drop his keys safely in Fuma’s palm.

          Kento dazedly leads them to where the car is parked. Neither of them talk, except for the occasional short and robotic-sounding directions from Kento. Both little boys promptly fall asleep in the back seat as soon as Fuma revs up the car.

          In the silence, Fuma works out a revelation of an inevitable conclusion that’s the only one that remotely makes sense. Kento knocked someone up. Fuma almost doesn’t need confirmation of this, because that’s just about the one thing that could have made Kento voluntarily leave the job he loved and lived for, far more than any of the other Juniors cared to admit.

          “Almost” is the operative word. Eventually, Fuma mutters, “You didn’t leave just to become a kidnapper, did you?” It took him a good five minutes to come up with such a throwaway line.

          “They’re my brothers,” Kento says softly, careful not to wake the boys. “They were born after I left the agency.”

          “Eh…” Fuma drawls.

          He wonders why Kento can’t just admit he kicked himself out of Johnny’s after getting some girl pregnant. A miniscule part of him is relieved that the truth doesn’t put the blame squarely on his shoulders. At the same time, Fuma can’t help but do the math, and comes to the other obvious conclusion that Kento must have decided to remind himself that he’s still straight, or at least not as gay as his last sexual encounter might suggest. In which case his departure still wouldn’t exactly be Fuma’s fault, but the fact remains unpleasant, nonetheless.

          He thinks the unpleasantness is born from the what-if of it all, as in a parallel universe where they don’t give in to hormones and inebriation and kept their friendship intact. He refuses to believe that the persisting ill feelings is because he drove Kento away, or that their history hadn’t been enough to keep him in place.

          Fuma continues to plot how to extract an admission of guilt from Kento, up until he’s helping carry Marius out of his car. “I need to use the bathroom anyway,” he explains. “You can take Shoyi.”

          “It’s Shori,” Kento corrects, with the first hint of a smile in five years (that Fuma sees.) “Mari can’t pronounce his name yet.”

          “Oh.” Fuma waits as Kento unlocks his front door. “Anyone home?”

          “My parents don’t live with me.”

          Fuma doesn’t follow up on that, though he’d been baiting for an answer like a wife or a fiancée.

          They’re both quiet when Fuma follows him into Shori and Marius’s room. He hands Marius to Kento once the latter is done gently placing Shori in his racecar bed, then goes off to find the bathroom. He blindly opens a few doors before locating it, but he honestly hadn’t meant to snoop around without permission. He’d just forgotten to ask for directions. But at least he can confidently verify Kento’s claim that he doesn’t live with anyone except for the two kids.

          Once inside the bathroom, he splashes his face with cool water and absently stares at the mirror. There’s a lot to take in. He should’ve grown a second head by now, if only to reflect how off-kilter his state of mind has gotten in the past couple of hours.

          Kento has kids. Nakajima Kento is a father of two.

          “This is where you’ve been this whole time, you fucker,” Fuma says under his breath.

          Fuma makes a stop in Kento’s kitchen, then heads back to where he left the other man. The room he’d left Kento in is covered in darkness, with only small star-shaped lights beaming faintly from an alarm clock to illuminate the room. Fuma sees the shadows of Marius and Shori fast asleep in their beds, but no sign of Kento.

          He tries the room adjacent to it, opening the door without bothering to knock. And what he reveals is Kento rather dramatically sprawled on the floor in a fetal position, face buried in his hands.

          Fuma sets a glass of water right against those hands, trying his best to ignore the way Kento is gasping and shuddering like he’s actually dying right in front of him. “I poured myself some water, but I decided to get your juice instead. Might have been the kids’ juice.”

          Without removing his hands from their position, Kento furiously wipes at his face. “You’re still here?” he rasps weakly. He doesn’t seem to care that Fuma raided his refrigerator.

          After eyeing the other boy refusing to look up, Fuma helplessly settles on a monotone “I came to say I’m leaving.” Fuma itches to say that they are stark opposites in that regard, but he can see that Kento’s not going to feel any lower than he already is.

          “Okay,” Kento mumbles, barely audible.

          Fuma glances at the door as if instructions were written there, then looks back at Kento again. He hesitates long enough for Kento to grab his wrist, his aim impeccable despite not looking at anything besides the floor.

          “O-okay,” Kento tries again, but he isn’t relinquishing his grip.

          “Okay,” Fuma says back at him. He hesitates for a moment before he rips his hand back, using it to bring Kento into him. Kento stumbles forward, arms flailing out and hands ending up grabbing at the back of Fuma’s shirt. This time, he hides his face in Fuma’s shoulder, muffling sobs against him. Fuma vaguely hears him wail about his incompetence in so many words.

          Fuma recognizes that Kento needs comfort from anywhere he can get in this moment, that anyone would do. Instead of feeling insulted by that, he simply hopes that this _would_ do; that this provides any sort of comfort at all.

 

*

 

_How your body still remembers things you told it to forget, how those furious affections followed you_

 

          Despite the circumstances, Kento’s glad to have landed the job. He may be in Johnny’s limbo, and he may be forced to work with the one man he had resolved to avoid for the rest of his life, but he’ll get paid. And he may have subjected said man to a front seat show of a manic emotional breakdown in lieu of avoiding him, but they’ve enforced collaborative, selective amnesia at least once before.

          He was inconsolable that night Fuma unknowingly helped him find Marius in the park. He’d cried so hard he passed out at some point. When he woke up, his shoes were off and he was under his sheets.

          He and Fuma hadn’t talked since he’d used the latter as a human towel. When they’re forced to meet again at their first official table-reading, he barely musters a formal “Please treat me well” and a stiff bow that he dispenses to the entire cast and crew.

          There’s only one person sitting between them at the table, a teenager that will be playing Fuma’s younger brother. Kento is mesmerized when he watches them interact, cataloguing how much Fuma has grown, now that he can see it up close and in person. He listens in to the advice Fuma is giving to their new coworker with a ridiculous amount of jealousy. It doesn’t help that Marius already asks about Fuma regularly, despite having just met him once.

          Fuma is so naturally well-liked, and Kento knows this intimately. He tries to fight the insecurity, along with the undeniable morsel of longing that comes with watching Fuma in his element. He only hopes he can get his act together when the actual filming starts, because he knows he’s not imagining that faint look of distaste on the director’s face.

          Kento goes off to the bathroom the first chance he gets, needing time with his thoughts. He starts to pace in the small area, trying to walk off the built-up tension that’s making it hard for him to function normally, let alone perform well. Mid-stride, who else but Fuma bursts in, catching him in the act.

          Kento’s steps stutter into a halt, though Fuma’s expression doesn’t change. He walks past Kento, and his voice is almost like a brisk breeze when he asks, “Left the kids at your place?”

          Kento takes a few seconds to answer, like his brain’s taking long to decipher Fuma’s words and the fact that they’re directed at him. “They’re at my mom’s. She’s working from home, and Misaki’s picking them up this afternoon.”

          “Girlfriend?” Fuma asks, impassive.

          “Misaki? No, no,” Kento says. “Takahata Misaki.”

          This makes Fuma turn to him. “You kept in touch?”

          “I mailed him a little while after I left,” Kento says. He tacks on a lame joke, “I thought we could a form a support group.”

          Fuma looks like he wants to ask more questions, but his confusion is starting to look a lot like frustration. Kento can’t know for sure just how well he can still read Fuma’s expressions, five years out of practice, but he soldiers on to say what he needs to say. “He’s coming by later to drop off the kids at around 5, just so you know. But before we fight again, or ignore each other again, I just want to thank you for the other day,” Kento says, voice cracking unfortunately near the end of his sentence. “You stayed with Mari and really helped him out – he was frightened when he got separated from us.”

          “Yeah, he was,” Fuma agrees.

          With great effort, Kento forces himself to admit, “So was I. I was – in truth, I was so scared I was almost nauseous with it, and I… You… Really, I can’t thank you enough.”

          Fuma shrugs, trying to hide how affected he is by Kento’s sincerity. He might have been apprehensive that Kento may just start crying on him again. “That night, you kept blaming yourself over and over for letting him run off,” he says slowly. “That’s what I could make out, at least. Are your parents fine with that? Leaving all that to you. It doesn’t sound like them.”

          “They’re incredibly busy,” Kento tries, hoping he isn’t as transparent as he feels. “I was the one who wanted to move out to a bigger place, after a while. They come over a lot to see the kids, practically every weekend, if we’re not the ones going over to them.”

          Fuma looks unimpressed, but he just says, “Alright.” He turns away from Kento again, facing forward to do what he went in there to do. Kento quickly turns his heel and leaves him to do his business.

          Unsurprisingly, Kento doesn’t quite redeem himself throughout the rest of the reading, but he hangs on with the thought that he’s about to be reunited with Shori and Marius. His mood is instantly lifted when Misaki makes his way inside the building, Shori and Marius in either hand.

          “Hey, I have to head out—oh!” Misaki begins, startling when Marius suddenly breaks free and dashes towards Fuma. He does a double-take before checking how Kento’s doing. Distractedly, he tells Kento, “I have to head out in five seconds, sorry. Are you good?”

          “Fuu-niichan!” Marius shrieks, making several heads turn towards him.

          Both Kento and Misaki can see Fuma’s lips slant into a smile when he sees Marius. “Oi, haven’t you learned your lesson about running off?” Fuma lets Marius glomp onto his leg, placing one hand on Marius’s back just to make sure the child doesn’t topple over. “Long time, Takahata,” he says, without glancing up.

          “It’s been a long time,” Misaki echoes. He smiles, although Fuma isn’t looking at him. “It’s good to see you.”

          “Same,” Fuma throws out.

          Misaki bounces on his feet, holding an internal debate before he flashes an apologetic look to Kento. “I really have to go.”

          “No, go ahead, please.” Kento gestures to the door, encouraging him to leave. “Sorry for the trouble.”

          “Ah, but who can refuse you when you finally admit you can’t do everything by yourself?” Misaki teases. “Okay, I’m off. Fuma-kun, it really is good to see you.”

          “Yeah,” Fuma says, but his words might as well have been “if you say so.”

          Misaki grimaces when he trades one last look with Kento, then takes off in a hurry.

          “Misaki got you oyakodon from the convenience store?” Kento asks Shori, who nods and smiles so minimally it could have gone unnoticed. He’s a timid child to begin with, and he clams up when he’s around strangers. “Mari, let’s behave. I know you’ve very grateful to niisan, but he’s been working all day,” Kento calls out to Marius, the little traitor who has yet to acknowledge him. He’s over-confident that this isn’t making him pout.

          “It’s okay,” Fuma says. He starts to walk with the child wrapped around his leg, gingerly taking a huge step that makes Marius scream in surprise and cling on for dear life. “You’re looking like my shoe, Marius.”

          “Wah! I’m not a shoe!”

          “Careful!” Kento runs up to them as quickly as he can, a little slower than he’d like as he is hand-in-hand with Shori.

          Fuma grabs Marius and hauls him up before Kento can berate him further. “What are you, then?” he asks Marius. “You’re not heavy enough to be a little boy. Are you a scarf?” He then arranges Marius so the kid is on his shoulders, stomach bent over the back of Fuma’s neck. His caution is masked in his roughhousing, but Kento detects it eventually.

          Kento frowns because his concern over Marius’s safety is immune to logic, and because his stupid heart is, too. He hugs Shori to him like a security blanket, like having him close will invalidate how his heart is skipping every other beat from seeing Fuma play with Marius.

 

*

 

_Let me scrub that brackish line that you got when something rose and then receded_

 

          Fuma may be too chicken shit to bring up his theories about Kento’s departure to his face, but he is proud of the progress the two of them have made in patching things up, all while bypassing any real meaningful dialog. This discounts the gratitude Kento expressed over Fuma’s help with Marius, which had been heartfelt, but entirely too short and one-sided to count as a conversation. It’s almost a tribute to their Junior days when they would blow up at each other and subsequently get over it with no need for reconciliatory gestures.

          But he’s nothing if not pragmatic. He understands they’re not going to magically pick up where they left off, like one night of letting Kento wipe his snotty tears on his shoulder is all it’d take to get them back to normal. But he does notice them easing into a kind of complacency, a precarious acceptance of one another’s existence.

          There are opportunities to strike a more substantial conversation, with the many long lulls in between set changes. But Kento often spends the downtime by himself, going over lines or checking up on his family over the phone, while Fuma’s usually off raiding the catering table or goofing around with other co-stars. Fuma is hyper-aware of the fact that it harkens back to their Junior days. They had few common friends outside of their unit, so it predated the fateful Incident. But Fuma takes extra care not to make Kento feel like he’s doing it on purpose this time, unlike his blatant intentions post-Incident.

          He takes it upon himself to do things like conducting random polls, excuses to try and open up the conversation to everyone in the room in case his once-upon-a-time friend would like to act out of character and socialize with the group at large.

          One day, Fuma gets an idea to test a theory on just how little Kento has changed, fatherhood aside. “I’m running low on that muscle pain thing I have,” he says as he enters Kento’s dressing room, without so much as a hello. Kento jerks, nearly dropping his script, then looks up at Fuma with a disgruntled expression. “Do you remember what Koyama-kun gave us after that one Shokura taping? That was pretty good.”

          Kento takes a second to think before his nose scrunches in apparent distaste. “That Chinese herb thing? That worked for you?”

          “It didn’t help you?”

          “Not even a little,” Kento says. His answer doesn’t surprise Fuma – he hadn’t said so back then, but Fuma could tell that he was holding back his opinion when their sempai asked them directly about it. Kento puts his script down and gets on his feet, granting Fuma his full attention. “I don’t have Koyama-kun’s number anymore. What’s hurting? Is it from rehearsals?”

          And bingo. Even after all this time, Fuma can still count on Kento’s borderline intrusive fussing over someone else’s well-being. “It’s nothing,” he responds, knowing fully well what he’s bringing upon himself by uttering those two words.

          Kento looks skeptical, before he steps behind Fuma and works out for himself how tense the younger boy’s muscles are. “You mean you’re overdoing it, as usual.”

          “Ow, hey – are you trying to _give me_ muscle pains?” Fuma tries to duck away half-heartedly, but stays put when Kento squeezes his shoulder emphatically. He makes sure to huff loudly as he lets Kento’s hands roam over him.

          “Tell me you didn’t come straight from rehearsals into taping,” Kento says as he digs his fingers into the hard knots in Fuma’s back.

          “I know it’s been a while, but you remember being in Johnny’s, don’t you?” Fuma grunts when Kento presses a little too forcefully, but he can’t complain too much. He prefers a hard knead over anything else, so Kento’s doing a good job, for an amateur masseuse. Or maybe Fuma’s starved for relatively uncomplicated contact from him. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t. I just had morning classes.”

          “You came from uni?” Kento asks. He makes a valiant attempt to hide his envy. “How was it? Tough class?”

          “It was sociology, the professor’s cool but there’s a fuckload of readings. I sped through them on the train,” Fuma says.

          “Keio?” Kento asks.

          “Yeah.” Fuma knows it’s stupid to feel bashful over the fact, that he got into the school he’d been aiming for. It might be the thought of saying it in front of Kento, who Fuma realizes most likely did not have the same opportunity, if he had been inundated with all the responsibilities of fatherhood.

          “Your parents must be so proud of you,” Kento says with a quiet reverence that tugs at Fuma’s heart.

          “It’s not raising kids under my own roof, but yeah, they are,” Fuma replies.

          Kento visibly hesitates for a moment before he says, “You and Juri and the others – that’s going well, too, isn’t it?”

          “It’s tiring, but I suppose that’s good. We have a lot of activities together, and some of them have their own dramas and plays going on right now.” Fuma is so thankful that Kento hasn’t stopped with his ministrations, enabling them to have the conversation without the potentially embarrassing eye contact. Feeling Kento’s nimble fingers is reassurance of the other man’s presence. “We get into it sometimes. You know most of them, all those strong personalities. Then there’s Kouchi.”

          Kento snorts softly. “He’s essential.”

          “We would fall apart without him,” Fuma confirms. “So, have you had the conversation yet?”

          Kento’s hands still. “What do you mean?”

          “The higher-ups,” Fuma clarifies. “What are they gonna do with you?”

          “I’m still not following. Do you mean are they going to involve the mafia or…”

          “Idiot, I meant your future in the agency,” Fuma says. He turns so that he can bop Kento on his head, so gentle it may as well be him fluffing the other’s hair. “I don’t know, but I can see them thinking you and Yuma can pull off another KinKi.”  
          “Oh, no, no, no.” Kento shakes his head repeatedly. “I can just barely manage this.” He gestures to the dressing room with a panicked look on his face.

          “Okay, no one’s making you do anything,” Fuma says, careful to sound less antagonistic and more pragmatic. “You can stick to acting, like Ikuta-kun. You don’t need the dance rehearsals, you’ve got enough exercise running after those twins. Or maybe just Marius.”

          “Shori has his moments, believe me,” Kento says, cracking a smile. “But that’s probably the most realistic for me, outside of becoming a bank teller.”

          “You let those Juniors get to your head when they said you’d look good in a suit, didn’t you?”

          “They weren’t wrong. It’s even more accurate now that I’m out of my teens.”

          Fuma chuckles at that, and does not allow his face to show how he may just be a little displeased at the turn of their conversation. It’s not as if Ikuta Toma was a lowly goal for anyone in the agency – but for a guy like Kento, who got lonely even when he was put in a unit with people he got along with (for the most part)? A guy like that shouldn’t be left to his own devices.

          He can’t bring himself to say this, not when everything’s so new around them. “Hey, you didn’t have to.” Fuma points behind his shoulder. “Since you offered, I took it, but you didn’t have to.”

          “I didn’t offer, I imposed it on you,” Kento says. He looks perfectly nonchalant admitting that his services had been entirely unsolicited, but he starts to look uncomfortable as he says, “I’m sorry, Fuma. Not for the massage, I’m fairly sure it wasn’t so bad that I have to apologize for it, but…”

          “It’s okay,” Fuma says, as soon as he realizes why Kento’s having such a hard time. Because it isn’t a throwaway apology that he’s dispensing – it’s something grander, more overdue. But now that he’s likely to attain it, Fuma doesn’t think he can handle taking it, not when Kento’s eyes are that large and sorrowful. “We don’t need to do all that.”

          Kento’s head falls forward, and his fringe obscures his face. “No, you need to hear this. Because, I- I handled it all wrong. I had to leave, I really did, but I should’ve talked to you first, and Hokuto and Kouchi. But especially you. No matter what, I should’ve- should’ve made you listen to me. If you ever thought it was your fault, if- if—”

          “Alright, stop, you’re hyperventilating.” Fuma puts his hands on Kento’s arms, gripping tightly, trying to get him to calm down. He couldn’t see Kento’s tears, but he could feel him jerk and shudder with each shallow gasp of air. “Save those for when we’re filming the fifth episode.”

          Kento makes an undecipherable sound – low, abortive words – until he finally manages a weak, “I’m sorry.”

          Fuma shakes Kento’s shoulders a bit to try and get his attention. “Come with me tonight.”

          Kento raises his head an inch. “Huh?”

          Fuma helps him out, pushing his chin up with a closed fist, not wanting to scare him with anything else that might seem too intimate. “Tell Hokuto and Kouchi yourself,” he says when his eyes catch Kento’s skittering ones. “We’re meeting up tonight, with Juri and some of the others.”

          Kento sighs, sounding genuinely regretful. “Tonight isn’t good.”

          “They really want to see you,” Fuma pushes, emboldened by how recognizably close Kento is to relenting. “They’ve been begging to tag along to a rehearsal but they knew they couldn’t ambush you like that. You owe it to them, right?”

          “The kids,” Kento says after some time of staring speechlessly at Fuma, voice taking on the makings of a whine. “I do want to see Hokuto and Kouchi. But tonight, it isn’t possible.”

          “Not tonight,” Fuma repeats, but the unsaid question is clear. _Next time?_

          “Not tonight,” Kento agrees. _Next time._

 

*

_We’ve found some lovely ways to disappoint_

 

          Kento is so very deeply fucked. When he notices the awkwardness in their interactions begin to dissipate, he surmises that he’s done for.

          Each time he sees Fuma interact with the twins or their younger coworkers or even the staff’s children, he gets the urge to drag him by the collar and take him somewhere away from prying eyes to do something. To do _anything,_ really, but he can and does get specific with that thought from time to time.

          In no more than a few months’ time, he managed to do the exact opposite of what he needed to do in terms of properly repairing his relationship with Fuma. Now all he can hope for is that their prolonged absence from each other’s lives has permanently robbed them of the ease with which they could read each other like open books, back then. But he has no reason to put confidence behind this hope, and self-preservation instincts dictate that he politely decline Fuma’s invitations each time.

          “I know, you can’t leave the kids,” Fuma interrupts him as he apologizes, putting his hands up to quiet him. “So I asked Misaki if he could watch over them, and he agreed. He said he could pick them up from your parents and take them to his girlfriend’s apartment.”

          “You talked to Misaki?”

          “Yeah, I got his number when I borrowed your phone last week,” Fuma says, deftly ignoring Kento’s answering glare. “I was aiming for a B.I. Shadow reunion, one way or another, but the three-person configuration has to wait for when girlfriends are out of the picture.”

          Kento closes his mouth after realizing it was set agape, setting his jaw firmly. “I can’t ask him to do that. I’ve already inconvenienced him, and now I’m making him look after my brothers when he’s supposed to be spending time with Hiroko.”

          “If it helps, he totally threw you under the bus. He showed me this picture of you when you decided you were too busy to step into a salon for what must have been a full year.” Kento watches as Fuma’s face shifts from proud and expectant, to exasperated and suspicious. “So you’re going to completely bail on tonight too, even after I enlisted help for your wards.”

          “Now is not a good time.”

          “Why do I get a feeling it never will be?” Fuma challenges, stance turning defiant. “If you’re really worried about taking up Misaki’s time, just come out for one song. We’re meeting at a karaoke bar – just Kouchi and Hokuto, this time, no one else – and they want to sing at least one song with you. It doesn’t have to be a Johnny’s song, if you don’t want it to be.”

          Kento racks his brain for a way out, and Fuma sees right through him. “You won’t even come out for one song?!” he demands.

          “I think I just need more time,” Kento manages.

          “You always do this! You’d rather walk away than confront something head on,” Fuma says. Adopting an unmistakably combative tone, he goes on, “One song, just with me. We don’t have to go where Hokuto and Kouchi are. Can you do that?”

          “Why are you pushing this?”

          Fuma shakes his head in disbelief. “Even that’s no good? You practice lines with me, share your lunch with me, you’ve come to trust me with the kids… But it’s still impossible to spend time with me after work?”

          “Is it possible for you to be more patient with me? I’m going through a lot,” Kento says. He sees in Fuma’s stunned face that his friend knows that it’s against his nature to admit as much, let alone voluntarily. “This isn’t easy, just jumping back into this with everything else going on.”

          “Then don’t make it harder than it has to be,” Fuma shoots back. “I’ll probably never understand the full extent of what you’ve been through, but it’s not like my life has been a walk in the park either. But we’re both here now. You’re here, but each time you drift a little closer to shore, you keep pulling back like a giant wave is coming to take you away again for good. Do you not see how incredibly tiresome that is?”

          “Well, there’s no sense in both of us being tired.” Kento tries to turn away, but Fuma halts him in place with fewer than ten words.

          “So you’re going to run away again!”

          Kento faces him, aiming to look half as daunting as Fuma does now. “How are we supposed to move on if you don’t let that go?”

          “I let you go years ago.”

          Kento keeps his gaze steady, freezing his facial muscles so they don’t give him away. He swallows the thickness in his throat, and it may just be in his mind but it sounds as if it echoes in the room.

          “I thought I did,” Fuma says, not long after, voice softer and nowhere near as solid as it had been just moments ago. “But then sometimes, for some reason, I have it in my head that I remember exactly how it feels like to sing with you. It’s stupid, but I can’t explain it away, and maybe that’s what’s got me on edge.”

          Kento is so overwhelmed by the unexpected sentimentality from Fuma that he blurts out, “And what if I remember how it feels like to kiss you?”

          Fuma meets his gaze sharply, but Kento immediately turns his attention to the far side of the room. After a few beats, Fuma asks, “Do you?”

          Kento bites his lip for flapping about like that without his permission before he mutters, “I don’t want to.”

          “Let’s step back, then. Step back a bit and maybe we can handle it better this time,” Fuma says slowly. “Right now, I don’t know what our long-term memory means, if it means anything at all. But we’re older now. Arguably wiser.”

          “Are you serious?” Kento deadpans.

          “I’m serious about taking things seriously. About not firing from the hip like we always do.”

          “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

          “I know it is,” Fuma snaps, bristling at Kento’s tone. “Can you at least try not to underestimate me? I know all of that, too.”

          “You don’t! You only think you do.”

          “Fine, I don’t know all the details you’re clinging on to.” Fuma is once again on the verge of losing his temper, and a deep breath is barely enough to keep the tenuous pretense of calm. “Although maybe it wouldn’t be such a catastrophic idea to be honest. ‘Cause, to tell you the truth, people can do the math. I’m not saying anyone talks behind your back, but the age difference, the way you are with them… It says a lot to anyone who takes more than a passing glance.”

          It’s a uniquely diplomatic effort coming out of Fuma, and Kento has to wonder if his debut has armed him with these new weapons or if he’s really trying not to spook him. But it only puts Kento on high alert. “There’s another accusation in there,” he says.

          “There isn’t,” Fuma says. “Hardly anyone would judge you for it, not after you took responsibility.”

          Kento’s inner conflict must be broadcasted all over his face, because Fuma uncharacteristically backs down.

          “If I overstepped, you can tell me,” Fuma says. “Put me in my place if it’s not my right to demand secrets from you. I can’t guarantee you it won’t piss me off – actually, I can probably guarantee you that it will. But we owe it to ourselves to fight like that.  We owe it to 16-year-old me and 17-year-old you.”

          Kento’s breathing goes dangerously shallow. “I stay up at night thinking about telling you. And how, if I do, you’ll wish later on that you didn’t know.”

          “That’s what you think of me?” Fuma’s voice is deceptively even.

          “It’s not that. It’s what I have to say.”

          “Try me. Instead of making that decision for me again. Maybe you’ll get some sleep and we can shave all that time it takes in the morning for make-up to work on those eye bags.”

          Kento laughs darkly at that, it’s unforced but it lasts less than a second. “Shori and Marius don’t have a mother.”

          “What happened to her?” Fuma asks, treading with caution.

          Kento inhales a lungful and releases it in a breathy answer. “Doesn’t exist.”

          After a long pause, Fuma says, “I don’t get it.”

          That’s fair enough. “I’m… different.” Kento laughs again at his own choice of words, sounding even more bitter this time. “I told you, you wouldn’t want to know. My own parents can barely believe it happened and they were there for the whole thing, but I’m. I… I can… conceive.”

          Fuma stares blankly. “Can you conceive of a way to make sense, because I’m really not following. At all.”

          “I can’t, actually,” Kento says. “I can’t make it make sense. It just doesn’t. I shouldn’t be, at my age, responsible for two kids that came out of my very male body.”

          “Are you really… trying to say… you…?”

          “That’s my big secret.” Kento shrugs. “Did you guess right?”

          “But… _what_?! What the fuck?” Fuma shrills. “What the actual fuck? Are you a seahorse?”

          “Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been hiding from everyone, I’m part-seahorse,” Kento grumbles, half-hysterical from the tension of dealing with Fuma’s reaction overriding the relief of unloading a heavy truth that’s constantly weighing him down.

          “How did you get…? I mean…” Fuma trails off, nervousness audibly creeping in.

          And there goes the last secret. “What happened to you being able to do the math?”

          Kento may as well have decked him on the face, the way Fuma staggers, injured and defensive. “Fuck you. This isn’t…” He takes a few stumbling steps backwards, until he spins all the way around on his heel, in dazed slow motion. “You’re so full of shit,” Kento can hear him say as he makes his dumbfounded retreat.

 

*

 

_Set our watches forward like we’re just arriving here, from a past we left in a place we knew too well_

          When he looks back on how he reacted that night, Fuma comes to the conclusion that he had behaved abysmally, and also that he couldn’t have taken the news any better. Even if he had managed to convince himself that Kento wasn’t just spouting an insane bullshit story, anyone would be due for an explosion after discovering that he’d fathered two children and hadn’t an inkling of their existence for nearly five years.

          So, in retrospect, he may have engaged in disgraceful behavior out of context, but he’s also damn proud of himself for a perfectly appropriate response. He deigns it his ticket to laying the next plank of his bridge to the elusive Nakajima island.

          He does what any sane man in his position would do – he uses Kento’s (their?) kids against him. And he doesn’t even need to lie to do it.

          Fuma bursts into the dimly lit green room that only Kento ever uses, spots him in a corner and greets him with a matter-of-fact, “My cousin needs kids to attend her son’s birthday party next Saturday.”

          Kento looks up from his cell phone. “Hi,” he grunts pointedly.

          Fuma waves off the obligatory and rather dark greeting. “You guys free then? It starts at 12. You’ll need to bring a gift, but Sou’s easy as hell to please and there’s going to be cake.”

          Kento is understandably unsure of what to make of the invitation, especially as it directly followed a revelation that had Fuma walking off on him in a dumbfounded rage. “You want me to bring Shori and Marius to your cousin’s kid’s birthday party?”

          “If you aren’t busy,” Fuma says. “The kids’ll have fun, and Sou’s their age. He’s a good egg, my nephew.”

          “I can ask the kids,” Kento says slowly.

          “Thanks,” Fuma says. “It’s just, you know. Sou needs friends his age. And if what you’re saying is true, that makes the twins his second cousins.” It’s perhaps the most anti-climactic way he could say that he’s at least willing to try and wrap his head around Kento’s story, but the way Kento smiles, he may as well have broken some record on the world’s most romantic gesture. It had definitely been enough to convince Kento to then convince Shori and Marius that they wanted to get out of the house and partake on free cake.

          That Saturday, the three of them are met by Fuma’s cousin, who gratefully accepts the gift-wrapped train from Shori while at the same time cooing at how adorable he is. “You shouldn’t have!” she says. Kento can tell she’s being genuine, but he also wants to reply that Fuma said that he _did_ have to.

          Fuma is just a few steps beside her and confirms as much, shaking his head when he sees Kento looking at him. He’s gently guiding a small boy with a hand on his back, prodding him forward. “Come on, time to meet Nakajima, Shori, and Mari.”

          “Yup,” Sou says with a dutiful nod, walking as fast as his little legs could take him.

          Kento looks past Fuma and takes in the sight of the empty house, bewildered. “I’m sorry if we arrived a bit early.”

          “Not at all, you’re just in time,” Fuma’s cousin assures him. “Sou, darling, come and introduce yourself.”

          Marius instantly clings to Sou, enveloping him in a flaily hug as soon as he’s in arm’s reach. Sou is just as quick to shed his reservations around Marius, inviting him to check out the different toys he has in the living area. Shori tags along with them, visibly more excited at the mention of toy cars.

          It takes a bit longer for Shori and Sou to warm up to one another, but soon enough they’re giggling liberally with their heads stuck together as they hover over a shared picture book with Marius. It’s the kind of mellow, domestic scene that makes it more natural to talk to Kento, if not actually easier.

          Fuma does what he set out to do, pulling Kento away to a more secluded area of his cousin’s garden where the latter can still keep an eye on the kids. Just as he practiced, Fuma doesn’t beat around the bush. “You gave birth to twins?”

          Kento smiles a bit wryly at Fuma’s straightforwardness, aware that the other man is taking that aspect of him to new heights as a necessity. “Yes, I did.”

          Fuma wasn’t expecting a different answer, but it continues to boggle him. “…How?”

          “Gallons of anesthesia.”

          “Hmph.” Fuma frowns. He didn’t mean that, per se, but then if he were Kento he wouldn’t be able to answer his own question satisfactorily, either. He tries another line of questioning. “Can you do it again?”

          “Uh, physically, there might be a chance, but there’s no way in hell I’m ever letting it happen again.”

          “You’re planning to be celibate from now on?”

          “They invented these things called condoms, dummy.”

          “Tell 17-year-old you about them,” Fuma points out.

          “If I could tell 17-year-old me anything, it’d be that my body wasn’t wired accurately.”

          “Don’t say shit like that, our –” Fuma pauses, taken aback by the slip. He has no idea where that pronoun even came from. “The kids might hear you.”

          “It’s alright,” Kento says softly, obviously catching what Fuma had been about to say. “They _are_ yours. You can think of them that way.”

          “Not the same way they’re yours,” Fuma argues wanly. “I haven’t been there for them. I mean, not that I had any control over that.”

          Kento hangs his head. “I deserve that.” He bites his lip before glancing back up. “You deserve to be their father, if you want. I honestly want to tell them about you, eventually, but only if you’re good with it.”

          “Can I think about it?” Fuma asks cautiously, cursing the part of his brain screaming at him to jump on the chance for acknowledgment. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to be involved and I promise I will torment you if try to cut me out. But the title’s bigger than that.” Fuma fidgets with his jeans. “Do you understand? It’ll affect more than just me.”

          “It’s cool, I understand.” Kento’s acting skills are still rusty, and it makes Fuma’s heart heavy with guilt.

          “I mean, even just thinking about the kids,” Fuma tries to explain. He and Kento both look in their direction, where Shori and Marius are now engaged in an oddly competitive three-way conversation with Sou. For his part, Sou seems to be participating on both ends of the multiple ongoing discussions. “Marius likes me well enough, but Shori mostly ignores me unless he sees me holding something edible.”

          Kento laughs at that. “Don’t take it personally. It takes him longer to acclimate to adults. Misaki kept insisting that Shori could smell fear or hated his face or something, and he went on and on about his dumb theories for something close to a year.”

          Fuma laughs in turn, a bit distractedly. “He gets along with Sou, at least. Shori.”

          “Yeah, that’s a bit of a surprise.”

          After a moment of hesitation, Fuma clears his throat. “Would you be up for telling the twins first, but nobody else? Assuming right now that nobody else knows about our situation. And I’m not saying that’s what we should do, I’m just throwing it out there.”

          “Nobody knows but you and me,” Kento confirms. “My parents, the twins, and just one other person knows about my ‘unexpected abilities,’ but they don’t know who the other father is.”

          “Shori and Marius know?”

          “Yeah. My mom thought they should know, and she trained them very early on never to mention that I’m their father.”

          “And the other person, is it Misaki?”

          “No, it was an ex I came clean with,” Kento says. “Good person, but even he couldn’t handle having a boyfriend that could get pregnant.” He shrugs. “It was nice to have someone to rant to about this other than my parents.”

          Fuma scowls at the mention of a former lover who also happens to be male. He’s well aware he’s in no position to be jealous, but this is the father-mother of his children in question, dammit. He’s smart enough to realize that dwelling on it is not a road either of them need to go down in this juncture, so he swiftly brings them back on course. “Theoretically, then, it would make sense to tell the kids first.”

          “It would,” Kento says. “They might get a kick out of their father being a big-time idol.”

          “They already know that,” Fuma says glibly. “Now you get to tell them they’ve got two of ‘em.”

 

*

 

_I count to three and grin, you smile and let me in_

 

 

The cast huddles backstage as group, six of them in matching t-shirts with the drama’s name printed over their chests. They aren’t complete due to scheduling conflicts, but they know they need to make the most of the final appearance they had on the docket to promote their drama. They all laugh when the oldest person in the cast, Toshinori, tears up as he rallies them towards a team victory (it’s the thirteenth variety show they’ve done and they’re on a decent four-show winning streak that they’d like to see to the end). Not one of them mentions the fact that he or she hadn’t slept a wink the other night out of excitement for their last official cast activity. But their battle cry rings out in the room in response to Toshinori’s lead. Riisa says she really wants to win the gorgeous Yamaha motorcycle that Fuma requested as a game prize.

          They break off into smaller groups as they wait to get called on set. Kento and Fuma fall into stride, heading back to the dressing room where Kento left an open bag of popcorn.

          “In a way I’m almost glad it’s over,” he says when they’re out of earshot of everyone else. “Today’s my last chance to screw up.”

          Fuma raises an eyebrow. “The way you say it, it’s like you’re thinking about taking the opportunity.”

          “Of course I wouldn’t.” Kento walks up to the popcorn bag, only to dig out a kernel to throw at Fuma, who fumbles to catch it but ends up dropping it. “Like I need to make it harder for myself to line up that next job.”

          “You dare deprive your fans right after you just resurfaced.” Fuma picks up the fallen piece of popcorn and smoothly lobs it towards trashcan, but it falls short. He ignores Kento’s taunting (“Better clean up after yourself, Shaq”), jogging up to the pesky kernel without breaking his line of thought. “Have a little mercy on those fragile fangirls.”

          “Don’t pin it on me, I’m planning to go on every audition that coincides with Misaki’s or your cousin’s schedule.” They spend the next few seconds fruitlessly trying to toss popcorn into each other’s mouths. “Consider that a warning, by the way – ah, dammit.” Kento misfires, landing popcorn on Fuma’s forehead. “I’m your competition, you know.”

          “Okay, one – try harder on your popcorn aim. Two, on the drama circuit, you damn well better try to be my competition.” Fuma picks at his hair, eventually just giving up to situate himself closer to Kento and the horde of snacks that the TV station provided them. “How do I know you won’t up and disappear with the kids once this is all over?”

          “That’s the least of your worries – I have to ride your coattails while I can,” Kento says, tilting the bag towards Fuma so he could partake. “Who knows if I can even catch up to you guys at this point? I was never Yamashita-kun or Ikuta-kun in our Junior days.”

          “Obviously, you’re Nakajima.” Fuma moves on from the subject as if he’d just given him the solution to everything. “It’s kind of funny I was asking something like that – about making up for lost time, talking about our kids.”

          Kento’s heart warms at hearing Fuma call them that, not even for the first time. Still, he’s not as ready to surrender the validity of his self-doubts. “Not to play Insecurity Olympics here, but I’ve got a bit more to worry about.”

          “Excuse you, being a father is a whole new thing for me,” Fuma contends. “You’re an idol – hell, you were touted as the natural born idol often enough. You already know what that life’s about. It’s like riding a bike.”

          “When you fall off a bike going downhill, everything goes out of control, and you’re left there dirtied and bloodied, with your only way forward having shattered into irreparable pieces.”

          “Your boundless optimism when it comes to yourself is inspiring.” Fuma rolls his eyes. “But also, yes, please ignore my own very meaningful crisis about fatherhood.”

          It’s Kento’s turn to scoff. “Please, what crisis? Shori and Mari love you and you’re already indispensable to them. You’d be blind not to see that.”

          “It’s not enough,” Fuma says, stubbornly.

          “Did you hear me say you get to bow out now just because you’re in good terms with everyone?”

          Fuma internalizes that for a while as Kento starts to pack up the bag. Then, “Do you remember what they used to call us?”

          Kento tilts his head. “FumaKen?”

          “No!” Fuma doesn’t even remember to conceal the delighted look on his face on hearing their nostalgic pair name. He sobers as he continues, “I mean, before we were even put in a unit. It’s the reason they always paired us up in choreography, or why they pit us against each other on every Junior show we were ever on.”

          “Rivals, right?” Kento ventures. He observes Fuma’s nonchalance, and it tells him that it isn’t quite the answer he’s fishing for. “That was a big part of it, but even more than that, it was being—”

          “Symmetry partners,” they say together.

          “I thought it was weird,” Fuma muses. “We were on the opposite spectrum on nearly everything, and we looked nothing alike. I mean, we were similar in height, but so were dozens of other kids. But by some random decision, you were the one assigned to always be at my side.”

          “Is this going where I think it’s going?” Kento asks, hushed voice holding a hint of excitement. “You’re giving me the shivers. I’m the only one allowed to talk like that.”

          “All it is, is you filling in blanks that you contrived yourself,” Fuma informs him.

          “Fine, what do you mean with this kind of talk, then?”

          Fuma shrugs. “Just saying something I thought about before. It comes up when you’re in a seven-member unit. In order to have that symmetrical formation, there’s one person who won’t have a partner.”

          Kento is confused by Fuma’s sudden concern about his unit’s odd-numbered body count. “Arashi gets by fine. So did SMAP.”

          “I know that. Having an odd number doesn’t matter – I wasn’t implying otherwise. Stop reading between the lines when there’s nothing there,” Fuma scolds. “What I’m saying is, I’ve never had a symmetry partner after you.”

          “Because you never needed one,” Kento concludes. “You guys are doing fine, even with you at the center.”

          “We are fucking amazing with me at the center,” Fuma corrects, but mostly lets the lighthearted jab go. “And you don’t need another one, either.”

          “Another…? Ah! Really? And I’m not supposed to be reading between _those_ lines?” Kento’s eyes are practically glittering. “Come on.”

          Fuma twitches when Kento grabs his shoulder. He already has his back turned when he says, “When there’s nothing there, I said.”

          “You know, I hate vague endings more than anything in the universe,” Kento calls after him as he begins to walk away.

          Fuma pauses at the door long enough to say with clarity and purpose (and a face still hidden), “Sounds like you’ll need to wait ‘til the end of taping so we can make things clearer for you.”

          Kento grins to himself as he watches Fuma walk out the door to go up to the TV producer, in the name of conveniently-timed professionalism. His smug ass already knows Kento’s going to follow him when taping wraps up. Kento can tell Shori and Marius he’ll be a little late picking them up – it’d be an understatement to say the twins wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with Sou. Kento truly isn’t a fan of vague endings, after all.


End file.
